


The Rose Family

by TheGoliathBeetle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Violence, Football | Soccer, Gardens & Gardening, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoliathBeetle/pseuds/TheGoliathBeetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio was the best football player in the high school team. Until a certain Lovino Vargas arrives. Lovino is gifted, ruthless, and brilliant on the field. Antonio finds it all rather endearing, much to Lovino's chagrin. And somehow, this has something to do with 'being true to yourself' and all that jazz. -Spamano oneshot. Human AU-</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spinyfruit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinyfruit/gifts).



> This is my first fic on AO3. I'd actually uploaded this on fanfiction (dot) net first. This is a gift fic for spinyfruit.   
> Sorry about the lame as hell football scenes, by the way xD I don't know a thing about football. I hope you like it!

The Rose Family

* * *

 

_The rose is a rose,_ __  
_And was always a rose._ __  
_But the theory now goes_ __  
_That the apple's a rose,_ __  
_And the pear is, and so's_ __  
_The plum, I suppose._ __  
_The dear only knows_ __  
_What will next prove a rose._ __  
_You, of course, are a rose -_ _  
_ _But were always a rose._

—The Rose Family,  _Robert Frost_

* * *

 

Antonio paused while tying his shoelaces, a small frown coming onto his features as he tried to remember if he'd watered his tomato plants. He always did, every morning. It was the routine. Wake up, brush, water the plants. Only then could he begin his day. But today he'd overslept. Really, blame the summer break. It had pampered him, making him used to staying up very late, and sleeping until past noon. So today, the morning had been one large blur. Those plants needed to be watered…

"Toni, you ready?" Gilbert asked, slapping him affectionately on the shoulders as he walked past.

Antonio sighed, looking up from his shoes. The locker room was almost empty, except for Gilbert, who was standing there looking at him expectantly.

"What's the rush?" Antonio said with a laugh, quickly tying his laces. "It's not like they're formal try-outs or anything."

"Nah, but it's fun, right?" Gilbert laughed. "I've missed playing with the old team. What with Alfred going to America for the summer and Carlos breaking his foot…by the way, I wonder if Carlos will play today."

This was a special high school. It was meant specially for foreign nationals, and catered specifically to their needs. There were language training courses, culture festivals, all the good stuff. Antonio wasn't sure he had to be here. He'd lived in this country for years now. Plenty of time to acquaint himself to its ways. But he liked it here. His two best friends in the whole world were here.

Antonio stood, glanced at his shoelaces one last time, and said, "Let's go play some football."

* * *

Everybody knew Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. It was hard not to. He was a member of the popular, sexy, insufferable-but-in-a-good-way group, the 'Bad Touch Trio'. The name, of course, was Francis Bonnefoy's idea. But that was not the only reason people knew Antonio. They knew him because apart from his adorable accent, his sweet smile, his ever-friendly personality, and his drop-dead-gorgeous face and body, Antonio was the school's star footballer.

He was a key player in the team, usually responsible for most of its goals, and although Alfred Jones was the captain, nobody—not even Alfred—would deny Antonio's value in the game.

Antonio and Gilbert paused momentarily as the surveyed the field. It was just the same as it always was. Many of their friends were already there, playfully kicking a ball around. It was not an actual game. They were just having fun. Carlos was there, his newly-healed foot attempting to steal the ball from Ivan. Gilbert grinned, and Antonio copied him.

Ah, football. Was there anything better?

* * *

Lovino Vargas stared listlessly out of the class window. The school had a lovely campus, he'd definitely admit to that. There were trees and shit, a clubhouse (with an indoor swimming pool, if the remembered the orientation correctly), benches dotting the grass, and a huge football field. What more did a kid need, anyway?

The teacher droned on and on about logarithms or exponents or some freaky math shit he had no intention of ever using in the future. Seriously, this was the first fucking day. Weren't the teachers supposed to go easy on them? Why did he even pick math? Maybe it wasn't too late to change…

The first day in this new school, and he was already bored. Just great. He looked around the class, spotting a Chinese-looking kid with impressive long black hair, and an Indian-looking kid next to him. The two of them would glare at each other occasionally before staring at the blackboard. A rivalry, already? And about  _math_? Fuck. Anyway, there was a kid up in front, wearing a hoodie with a Canadian maple leaf on it, and another guy (girl?) sitting near-by, with the most fascinating shade of pink nail varnish on his (her?) nails. This person kept texting someone under the desk. Behind him (her?) was a nervous-looking brunet who kept kicking the boy (girl?) and hissing things like, "Feliks, pay attention."

Feliks? That  _sounded_  like a guy's name…

What the fuck was this, really? This was  _exactly_ the sort of place Feliciano would feel right at home in. It was vibrant and fucked up, two adjectives that fit his younger brother perfectly. He secretly wondered what Feli was doing right now. There was a two-year age difference between them, so they didn't have the same classes.

When the bell rang, Lovino wasted no time packing his things and walking out. Thank fucking god. That class was boring the shit out of him. What did he have next…? Hmm. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out his schedule. English, geography,  _math_ , and…oh, he was free. At least for the next hour.

Perfect.

* * *

Lovino walked through the elaborate campus. When they said it was a school for 'foreign nationals', they  _really_ fucking meant it, didn't they? So far, Lovino had spotted at least twenty languages he couldn't recognise, fifty weird names, and at least thirty different types of outfits. Plus, everyone who introduced themselves said things like, "Hi, I'm (insert name here), and I'm from (insert country here). What about you?" It seemed like fucking  _etiquette_ for him to respond with, "I'm Lovino Vargas and I'm from Italy."

Fucking ridiculous.

Anyway, he made it the football field. There were already people there, playing. They seemed to just be fucking around. Lovino went up to the bleachers, sitting closest to the field, and watched. Part of him wanted to play. But that would involve going up to them and making conversation, and Lovino really wasn't up for that right now. It wasn't too sunny or too cold, so this was the perfect place to sit, watch the game (or whatever the shit those guys were doing, anyway), and sort out his life.

He took out his schedule again, checking what books he'd carried with him and what books he still needed to buy. His bag had a fresh set of stationery (and who didn't enjoy new stationery?), his lunchbox (although it wouldn't be necessary since the cafeteria served some ten varieties of cuisine), and a hoodie, in case it got cold. Lovino took out his earphones and plugged them into his phone, picked out a song, and studied his schedule a bit more. So after this free period, he had history, and then art, and then—

Lovino suddenly felt an exploding pain in his nose as something hard and heavy collided into his face. He yowled, dropping his phone and schedule, as the football—yes, a fucking  _football—_ fell into his lap. He saw stars for a moment.  _Dio santo_ , that hurt. Had he broken his nose? Please, no, for the love of everything kind and holy in the world,  _no_. Tears sprang from his eyes as the pain intensified. He curled into himself, still clutching his face.

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

Someone in an annoying Spanish accent was talking to him. The person was panting for air, as though he'd been running. Lovino looked up as the pain eased, blinking away the water from his eyes.

"What the fuck was that, you useless bastard?" he growled, although it came out sounding a little nasally.

The bastard was tanned, a mop of tousled, sweaty brown hair on his head, and green eyes, staring at Lovino, wide and shocked. He was dressed in a red football jersey and shorts. Behind him, another guy—an albino, by the looks of it—approached. This one seemed to have a perpetual smirk on his face, even though he wasn't actually smiling. It was like his face was just used to sneering at everything.

"I'm sorry," the Spanish one said. "It was a total accident. Are you okay? Do you want to see the nurse?"

"You fucking dickhead," Lovino snapped, rubbing his nose gingerly. "Look where you're kicking, you moron."

"I'm sooooorry."

"Hey, cut the attitude, okay?" the albino muttered. "Antonio says he's sorry. Shit happens. It's a game. Maybe if you weren't sitting so close to the damn field, you wouldn't have got hurt." By his accent, the fucker was German.  _Dio,_ a potato eater!

"Gilbert—" the Spanish one, Antonio, began.

"What the fuck?" Lovino roared, sitting up straighter and moving his hands away from his face to hold the football in his lap. " _You_ fuckers kick it in my damn face, and  _I'm supposed to be okay with it_?"

The potato eater, Gilbert, shrugged. "If Antonio  _really_ wanted to hit you in the nose, trust me, your nose would be broken. He's the best player there is. And he's really sorry, so just drop it, okay?"

Lovino couldn't help it. He snickered. It hurt his nose, sure, but he did it anyway. "I hardly think a  _good_ footballer would kick the ball into the bleachers."

"Oh, you think you're much better?" Gilbert snapped, taking a step towards Lovino. A barricade separated them, of course, but Antonio still put a hand on his friend's shoulder. The Spaniard looked altogether too stressed. He very obviously didn't want the situation to escalate.

"Gilbert," Antonio said, "Alfred's going to—"

"Oh, who gives a shit, Toni?"

"What makes you think I'm  _not_ better than Mr. Ace Footballer over here?" Lovino taunted, jerking his head towards Antonio.

"Please," Gilbert said with an eye-roll. "I bet my girlfriend can play better than you."

"Gil, to be fair, Elizabeta  _is_ a pretty good player…" Antonio started, wringing his hands together.

"That's exactly what I just said," Gilbert replied without looking away from Lovino.

Antonio sighed, staring at the Italian. "I'm really sorry. Can we just forget about this whole thing?"

"No," Lovino barked, getting to his feet and picking up his phone from the ground. His nose was recovering, thank god. "I'm going to show you fuckers how  _real_ football is played."

"WHAT?" Gilbert shouted. "You mouthy brat, I should just beat the shit out of you right now."

"Why? Too scared to see me on the field?" Lovino replied flippantly, before stepping out of the bleachers and making his way onto the grass.

"That's it," Gilbert growled. "Let's do this. Our team versus  _you_."

Lovino looked at Gilbert and Antonio, and then at the nine other guys standing around behind them. They were keeping a careful eye on the situation, Lovino could see that, but they were too far away to actually hear the exchange going on. "Eleven people versus one me?" Lovino asked.

"Gil, that's not fai—"

"Yeah," Gilbert said, smirking. "Let's go."

Lovino dusted his hands and checked his pockets for anything breakable. He smiled to himself. "Fine."

* * *

Antonio was honestly a little bit irritated with Gilbert. There was absolutely no need to pick a fight with an innocent bystander. Or by-sitter, since he'd been sitting. Antonio had already apologised for kicking the ball at that kid's face, and even though his poor victim had been furious (who wouldn't be?) Antonio was sure that a few more apologies and niceties would have tided things over. Now, of course, the new kid was marching up confidently beside them, smirking to himself.

Antonio actually took a good look at him. Apart from his nose—which was red now—and his eyes, which were still streaming the occasional involuntary tear, the kid looked rather…nice. Antonio liked the colour of his eyes, like amber or honey. He liked how well they contrasted his dark brown hair. And that one wayward curl sticking up like that? So adorable.

"Hey, you don't have to do this," Antonio said to him, ignoring Gilbert's eye-roll. "I mean, you're welcome to play if you want to, of course, but really, Gil was just being silly."

"You think I give a fuck?" the kid retorted. "Your friend challenged me to football. I'm going to show him—and all of you bastards—why that's a bad fucking idea."

Antonio frowned a little. This wasn't very cute anymore… "What's your name, anyway?"

But before the kid could reply, Alfred bounded up to them, looking concerned. "Hey, dudes, what's the problem?" To the new guy, he said, "Sorry about your face, man. Toni's fault. Total accident."

The guy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Are we playing or what?"

"Playing?" Alfred looked from the guy—Antonio decided, for the sake of simplicity, to call him Rude Italy (because of his pronounced Italian accent and his tendency to swear)—to Antonio and Gilbert. "Is he playing?"

"It's us versus him," Gilbert replied with a gleeful smirk.

"Is that fair?" Alfred asked, staring at Rude Italy as though waiting for approval.

"It's perfectly fucking fair," Rude Italy replied. "Let's start."

Alfred looked dubiously at all three of them. "Well, um, okay. Arthur is the goalkeeper," and he pointed to Arthur Kirkland in the distance. "Wait," Alfred said and then stopped, looking at Rude Italy seriously. "Who'll defend your goal?"

"I'll attack and defend."

"That's ridiculous."

"I have an idea!" Gilbert said, and Antonio dropped his head to his hands in exasperation. Gilbert went on, "You, bratty guy, you can try to score while all of us defend. How about that? You don't have a goal to protect, then."

"That works fine," Rude Italy replied with a shrug. "Now can we start  _playing_ , for fuck's sake?"

And with that, Antonio and Co. were handed the most embarrassing defeat of their lives.

* * *

Eleven against one. The winner should have been obvious. To Rude Italy, anyway, it was. He seemed all too confident about this whole thing. As soon as the game begun, Antonio dived for the ball. They were supposed to keep it out of Rude Italy's possession at all costs. So Antonio tore through the field, ball at his feet, and passed it to Gilbert. Gilbert smirked, passing it to Alfred, to passed it to Carlos. Ivan took it next, smiling in his eerie, serene way, and kicked back to Antonio.

Except, Antonio never received it.

The ball was intercepted by a whoosh of colour.

It was Rude Italy.

He practically  _materialised_ in front of Antonio, stealing the ball from him and tearing towards the goal. Antonio cried out in surprise and bolted after him. Where would he possibly pass it, anyway? Rude Italy had no team. Alfred and Gilbert both made a dive for the ball, but with almost superhuman skill, Rude Italy veered out of the way, taking the football with him. He was smirking.

Antonio just gaped at him for a few seconds of utter disbelief.

"Come on, I thought you were the ace player," Rude Italy taunted without looking at him, weaving between Ivan and Carlos. "Scared, Antonio?"

"As if!" Antonio said with a laugh, chasing after him.

Rude Italy smirked. And then he abruptly changed direction, snuck between both Mathias and Sadik, and  _kicked_ the ball towards Arthur so hard that it just left the ground and flew over Arthur's head, slamming against the netting so hard that Antonio almost imagined the net ripping out of its hooks.

Everybody and everything just stopped for a moment.

Nobody said a word.

Rude Italy smirked at all of them, his eyes finally resting on Antonio. "That's one point for me. Shall we play until five?"

Alfred stared. "Yeah, dude. Five sounds great."

The team was far more prepared for Rude Italy now. Before, they'd been taken by surprise. But now? Now they were  _ready_. Antonio especially. He tore after Rude Italy, and even managed to take the ball from him, but the guy was just too good. Rude Italy stole it right back, and made his second goal.

And then his third.

And then his fourth.

The fifth goal was Antonio's last shot at stopping this guy. He buckled to the pressure. He panicked. And he did something he never usually did. Antonio elbowed Rude Italy in the ribs. Hard.

"FUCK!" he roared, stumbling as Antonio seized the ball from him. "You dirty cheat!"

Ugh. He hated that word. Guilt replaced the momentary relief Antonio's felt when he'd stolen the ball. Rude Italy came up from behind him, threw him a glare, and zoomed in for the kill. Antonio knew it was over before it even happened. Rude Italy snatched the ball and kicked it, hurling it towards Arthur and breakneck speed.

Arthur's fingertips just about brushed the skin of the ball, but it was not enough. It was nowhere  _near_ enough.

Rude Italy had made the final goal.

A sudden, profound silence descended upon everyone on the field. Rude Italy knelt over, his hands on his knees, laughing and panting. "You…bastards…" he rasped, chuckling. He managed to stand up straighter, and look Antonio right in the eye. "My name," he said slowly, "Is Lovino Vargas. And don't you forget it."

"Trust me," Antonio replied, more shell-shocked than anything else. "We're going to remember you for a while."

* * *

Lunch was directly after, and there was an odd sort of quiet at their table. Gilbert was staring at his food without actually eating it, Antonio was texting someone. Francis raised an eyebrow at his friends. "What happened?" Unlike them, he wasn't part of the football team. He didn't even watch the game. Francis detested getting sweaty for anything except sex.

"Antonio got his ass handed to him by the new kid."

"What new kid?" Francis looked around, his eyes resting on one lone face he didn't recognise. New students were a rarity here. How many people could really claim to be expats from Iceland or whatever, really? "Is that him? He's quite cute, I must say."

Antonio finally tore his eyes away from his phone and followed Francis's gaze. "Oh, yes. Rude Ita—erm, Lovino Vargas. I accidentally hit him in the face with my football, and he cussed at me a lot, and then he and Gilbert got into an argument, and then we somehow ended up playing football with him, and he totally wiped us out. Alfred was actually crying in the locker room. You should have seen it." He ran a hand through his hair. They'd all had a shower, so Antonio had shampooed his hair and everything too. He picked at the udon noodles on his plate.

"I see," Francis said with a little smirk. "Shows you how people have hidden talents,  _non_?"

It was at that moment that Elizabeta and Jeanne walked up, sitting beside their respective boyfriends. Antonio smiled at them before going back to his phone with a sigh. He scrolled up to read the whole conversation.

_Emma: Hey! Sup?_

**Antonio: Nothing much lol wbu?**

_Emma: Haha, I can see you from across the cafeteria._

**Antonio: I see u too :)**

_Emma: xD_

_Emma: So, um…haha, well, I was wondering what you were doing this Saturday :)_

**Antonio: idk. maybe football practice with the guys in the park**

_Emma: Oh._

_Emma: Wow, you really practice a lot, huh?_

**Antonio: yup :P**

_Emma: That's cool :)_

_Emma: But we should hang out sometime! There's this cool waffle place I've wanted to try._

And that was where the conversation had been interrupted. Antonio just kept staring at the screen, feeling a little hopeless, a little fettered. He knew that Emma was sitting only three tables away from him. He had to reply. She was watching him.

He didn't have a problem with her, really. Emma was very sweet. And very pretty. She was wonderful to talk to. Any guy would be lucky to have her. It was just…Antonio wasn't that into girls. It was his secret. Not even Gilbert or Francis knew, although they must have suspected something. Antonio never dated anyone for more than two weeks at the most, and he was always the one to break it off. He'd made a reputation for himself as the school's heartbreaker. He didn't mean to! He didn't want that sort of reputation! It was just…well…if things got out in school, his dad might find out, too…and that wouldn't be nice.

So Antonio sighed again. He really was sighing a lot today, wasn't he?

**Antonio: yup. :) that sounds fun**

_Emma: Really? Oh, that's great, then ^.^_

_Emma: How about Sunday, then? Or are you busy on Sunday too?_

**Antonio: Mass**

_Emma: Oh! Of course. Sorry._

_Emma: Friday?_

**Antonio: Not possible :( I have stuff planned**

Yes, stuff. Like watching TV and tending to his tomato plants.

_Emma: Oh…_

_Emma: I see._

_Emma: Well, whatever :) It's cool._

Antonio closed his eyes for a moment. He hated this part the most. The part when they eventually caught on that he was rejecting them. It made him feel like such a monster. He really was fond of Emma. The two of them could be great friends, he just knew it. But that was it. Antonio could not go any further. Not if he could help it. He utterly hated pretending he was into women when he just wasn't. It wasn't fair on the girls he was going out with, and it wasn't fair on him, either.

"Who are you texting?" Elizabeta suddenly asked, making Antonio look up to meet her knowing smile. "Some pretty girl we should know about?"

"Just Emma," Antonio replied simply, taking a bite out of his lunch.

"Ah, the cute blonde one," Francis said with an appreciative nod. "Good choice. Where are you taking her?"

"You misunderstand," Antonio said with a convincing grin. "She was asking about some class notes."

"It's the first day of school," Jeanne pointed out.

"That's exactly what I told her," Antonio said with a small laugh. There was honestly no need to lie. Gilbert and Francis had both dated men in the past too, and found out that they just preferred women. Elizabeta and Jeanne wouldn't judge either. And this school was thankfully very tolerant. There were plenty of openly gay couples. Berwald and Tino came to mind…

But it was pretty scary. If his school friends found out, his father might find out too. And that was  _definitely_ not something Antonio wanted to deal with.

* * *

Lovino was feeling really gross. He desperately wanted to shower after his superb football game, but there was no fucking way he was going to enter the changing room with those morons right there. He wanted them to wallow in their loss. Ha.

So really, Lovino ended up having a semi-bath in the toilets. He washed his face and rolled up his sleeves to wash his arms. He doused himself in deodorant and splashed water on his head. The guy with the fancy nails, Feliks, was just staring at him. "You're like, a little wet," he said simply.

Lovino was dripping water like a fucking sponge.

"No shit," he replied flatly.

Anyway, now, Lovino was sitting all alone at his table. He'd expected to be eating lunch with Feli, but his brother had found himself a couple of friends and was happily ignoring Lovino completely. He glanced at Feliciano, jealousy burning in the pit of his stomach. Feli was sitting next to some blonde guy who looked like he was incapable of showing emotion, and a black-haired guy, who also looked somewhat incapable of showing emotion.

Seriously, Feli had the weirdest tastes.

So Lovino looked towards Antonio and Gilbert. Antonio was supposed to be the  _best_  in the team? Really? Wow. That was just…pathetic. The guy wasn't  _bad_ , he was just…not good enough. But then again, Lovino had always been exceptionally good at football. Antonio had even apologised for that foul. It was a desperate times, desperate measures sort of thing. Lovino understood that. He hadn't forgiven Antonio, but he'd understood that.

Lovino looked at the pizza on his plate.

He, Feliciano, and their grandfather, had moved to this city primarily because it was cheaper. Plus, this fancy new school was a big attraction. Lovino didn't care one way or another. He wasn't exactly friendly, had never been, and even the guys he hung out with in his old school wouldn't really bother keeping in touch. They were his football team buddies. One thing that he loved about his old school was the football games. Everyone was fucking passionate about it, so it was always fun.

After lunch, Lovino went for his next class. History, wasn't it? Yes.

He was one of the earliest students there, and sat closest to the window, staring out into the fields. He could see a cricket pitch from here. Fuck, they had a  _cricket pitch_. What were next, horses for polo? He was certainly not putting it past them.

The teacher entered. She was pretty, Lovino noticed instantly, and seemed friendly enough. She adjusted her glasses and lightly patted her auburn ponytail as she sat at her desk and waited for the other students to arrive.

They filed in eventually. Feliks, and his brunet friend (Toris?), the Chinese and the Indian guy, arguing about something, a couple of girls Lovino had seen around but hadn't really spoken too. There was a really cute blonde one speaking animated to—

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

Lovino had to force down a laugh.

_Antonio_ was in this class? Fucking around with  _his_ head would be fun. Especially after his embarrassing defeat. Ha. HA.

* * *

Emma was speaking really quickly, with a lot of hand gestures, and Antonio could barely keep up. He'd made the mistake of smiling at her as he walked out of the cafeteria, and she'd taken that as his cue to keep flirting. Francis, Gilbert, Elizabeta, and Jeanne had conveniently vanished. Which really wasn't fair. He wasn't looking for 'alone time' with Emma. For pity's sake. If his friends were here, they would have saved him.

"—and then they basically screamed, which was his cue to run, and then—"

"Hey, we're here," Antonio interrupted, relief flooding him as he noticed the teacher.

Emma pouted slightly. "Oh, yeah." She giggled. "Sit with me?"

Oh no, please no. If there was some way he could just get her off his back without telling her the truth about his sexuality…Dammit. Antonio almost wished he was straight, so he could just go out with her. She was so lovely. So funny. So perfect. Butshe was a  _girl_.

It was then that Lovino Vargas saved his butt.

"When are football tryouts, stupid?" Lovino yelled from across the class, making everyone look up at him, and then at Antonio, who Lovino was talking to.

"What, me?" Antonio questioned, taken by surprise.

"No, the walls," Lovino retorted coolly.

"You can have this discussion after class," the teacher said, her tone crisp and commanding. "Antonio, Emma, take your seats."

Antonio went straight for the desk behind Lovino, leaving Emma wide-eyed and embarrassed. He shot her an apologetic look, motioned towards Lovino and mouthed,  _lemme just talk to him._ To his relief, she nodded. Her smile had lessened, but she gave him a soft look of understanding before going for one of the last seats in class and setting down her books.

Antonio legitimately hated himself. Really.

* * *

"Right," the teacher began. "In your first semester, we'll be looking at ancient civilisations. Now, first—"

"Like the Indus Valley Civilisation," the Indian kid muttered softly.

"Like the Xia Civilisation," the Chinese one retorted, turning his head sharply.

"Please, the Indus Valley people were definitely older."

"And they left basically  _no_ written records!"

"HEY!" the teacher barked. "Be quiet, or I'll throw the both of you in detention." The rest of the class snickered.

Both the Indian and the Chinese rolled their eyes at each other, and Lovino had to bite his bottom lip to keep a straight face. Now that was a match made in hell, if he ever saw one.

"They remind me of Francis and Arthur," Antonio said softly, leaning forward with a laugh in his voice. "Although Francis and Arthur are much worse…"

"Who the fuck is Francis?" Lovino replied without turning around. "You know what, it doesn't matter."

"Oh, right, you asked about the tryouts. They'll be held in two weeks. You should check the notice board. Something should be pinned up over there."

The teacher had begun talking again, and Antonio fell silent. For about three seconds.

"You're really good, Lovino. I've never seen anyone  _actually_ play football like that. Except on TV, but those are all stars."

" _Grazie_ , I know," Lovino replied, trying not to grin too obviously. He loved it when people recognised how fantastic he was.

He heard Antonio laugh. "Sorry about that foul, by the way. I panicked."

"You already apologised, moron. But whatever, it doesn't fucking matter."

Before Antonio could reply, his phone buzzed. It was on vibrate, and Lovino heard its soft grumble before it fell silent. And then he heard Antonio sigh. Lovino turned around slightly, very slightly, enough to see the cute blonde girl from before smiling at Antonio from across the room, and Antonio giving her a tired sort of grin.

Antonio put the phone below the desk and typed a response to whatever message the girl was saying before pocketing his phone and sighing once again in apparent exasperation.

"Maybe you shouldn't be such a dick to your girlfriend," Lovino muttered idly, turning a page of his history book purely for show.

"She's not my girlfriend," Antonio replied simply.

And that was the extent of their conversation that day.

* * *

After school, Antonio went straight home. He absolutely had to check on his plants. He was starting to get more and more panicked about the possibility that he'd forgotten to water them.

They had a large apartment, but Antonio had always felt it was a bit useless. Only two people lived here. His mother had died when he was very young, and his father had been a little…tightly-wound, ever since. His dad was an investment banker, constantly stressed, sleepless, and rich.

Antonio went to his room, went out into the balcony, and checked on his plants. The soil was still a bit damp, thank god. So he  _had_ watered them. Oh, good. New tomatoes were starting to grow, and he smiled affectionately at the tiny green fruits. Next, he had a proper bath, changed, grabbed his wallet, and stepped out.

There was a farmer's market today. It was on every once in two months, and Antonio  _always_ went. Sometimes he'd find delicious fresh vegetables, other times, pretty plants. Oh, he could go absolutely crazy with those flower sellers. He could literally never choose between them. They were all so gorgeous!

He walked quickly, down familiar routes. This was his little safety zone. None of the guys from the football team ever came here. Why on earth would they? As far as Antonio knew, he was the only one with the secret passion for gardening. He actually wished they had a proper garden at home, but they lived in an apartment building. Sure, it was a very, very, very fancy apartment building with a tennis court and a swimming pool and an arcade, but  _still_. All Antonio really needed was a garden. Or perhaps a farm. A farm would be perfect.

His dad would probably kill him for wanting a farm, though. Low aim was a crime, dad always said.

The familiar cackle of people washed over him, and Antonio grinned widely. The street was crowded, full of little carts and stalls, with incredible smells and colours everywhere. Yay! He was already feeling  _so_ much happier!

Antonio wandered down the streets, pausing to look at every single stall. Those pumpkins looked delicious, and that spinach was very fresh. Oh, were those tomat—oh god.

It was at that exact moment that Lovino Vargas looked up from where he'd been examining tomatoes and raised an eyebrow. Antonio blanched. Lovino wasn't alone. There was another guy with him, who resembled him quite a bit, and an older looking gent, who was having a conversation with the owner of the stall.

"Oh…hi, Lovino," Antonio said softly, his heart racing. This was going to be so embarrassing.

"It's you," Lovino said with a shrug, going back to examining tomatoes. The boy next to Lovino glanced at Antonio looked him up and down, and then grinned happily.

"Oh, who's this, Lovi?"

"Nobody worth knowing, Feli," Lovino replied simply. But of course, this 'Feli' was not convinced.

He went straight up to Antonio, shook his hand, and said, "Hi! I'm Feliciano. I'm Lovi's younger brother. What's your name?"

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," he replied quickly, only for Lovi— _Lovi?! So cute, soooo cute!—_ to roll his eyes.

"He's one of the football team morons. He's the one who kicked the ball in my face."

"Oh," Feli said, dropping Antonio's hand. "I'm sure it was an accident, right?"

"Of course. Why would I do something like that on purpose?"

Lovino— _Lovi—_ seemed to have selected the best tomatoes, because he took out six of them in a wicker basket and handed them to the older man. " _Nonno_ , these ones." The man took it from Lovi, and then glanced at Antonio.

"Oh, hi! Are you Feliciano's friend?"

"Actually—" Antonio began, but Feliciano spoke first.

"He's Lovi's friend!"

For some reason, this made the man's face turn blank with surprise for a second. "Oh really? That's great!" his face split into a huge grin, and he shook Antonio's hand with so much force that it was actually jerking Antonio's arm up to the shoulder blade. "I'm Romulus Vargas. Their grandfather."

"He's not my friend," Lovi muttered. He glanced towards Antonio and asked, "Chelsea?"

"Manchester United," Antonio replied without even a pause. "And Real Madrid, of course."

Lovi rolled his eyes. "No, we're definitely not friends."

"Aw, come on. I support A.C Milan, you know? Those guys are really cool!"

That comment seemed to make Lovino's face soften just a little bit.

Antonio took another chance. "Hey, you know the park down Rose Lane? It's that really big one?"

"No, why?" Lovi asked, his whole frame suddenly becoming a lot more guarded, a lot more suspicious.

"The guys and I play football there on Saturdays. You can join us, if you like."

Something really weird happened. Lovi's face became very, very red. It honestly resembled the tomatoes he was standing right next to. Antonio just stared. It was fascinating, the colour. And frankly adorable. If he wasn't careful, he was really going to develop a crush on this guy.

"You…want me to play with those losers?" Lovi asked haltingly, as though he couldn't believe his ears.

"Haha, Lovi, come on. We're better than you think."

"Right…" he looked away, and suddenly his head shot up, his eyes burning. "Did you just call me Lovi?"

"Um, yeah. It's cute."

Lovi looked torn between trying to strangle Antonio, and trying to strangle his brother, who was giggling to himself.

"Fuck this," Lovi snapped.

"No, really! Would you like to join us?"

Lovino looked torn by the question. And then slowly, he said, "Well…whatever. I don't care either way."

"Oh yay! Why don't we exchange numbers? I don't want you getting lost on Saturday. You're new here, right?"

And was  _really_ how it began.

* * *

When Antonio got back home, it was with Lovino's number on his phone, and four onions, a pumpkin, and twelve apples in various paper bags. Antonio was also holding on to a little sapling of chrysanthemums. His head was filled with the instructions that old lady at the stall had given him to take care of them. Lovi's adorable blushing face was also playing on his memories.

First, he tended to the new addition to his balcony garden. He found a spare flowerpot under his bed (where he kept most of his gardening equipment, safely out of sight), and carefully eased the chrysanthemums in, sprinkling them with a bit of water and placing them near his tomato plants. The flowers added a refreshing splash of colour, a break from the red and green.

And then he went to the kitchen to start on dinner. Antonio loved cooking. His father always wanted to just hire help, but Antonio had always shot the idea down. It was a lot more fun to make things on his own. Sure, he wasn't as good as Francis, but then, who was, really?

His father was home early today. Antonio's head jerked up in surprise as he heard the door swing shut, a soft tapping of footsteps following shortly after. Antonio had been making tortillas, and he chewed his bottom lip slightly and turned in anticipation for his father to enter the kitchen.

Antonio's father was a large man, perpetually in a suit and tie. He had dark eyes and hair the same colour as his son's except his was always neatly combed. He had a narrow, angular face which wasn't used to smiling. He merely nodded at Antonio as he sat at the table, setting his briefcase on another chair and cracking the knuckles of his fingers.

As the ritual demanded, Antonio poured his father some sangria and asked, "How was your day, dad?"

"Fine," was the monosyllabic response. He took a sip from the drink before exhaling loudly and sitting back against his chair. "How about you?"

"Fine," Antonio replied simply, although he felt he'd had a pretty fun day, and it definitely deserved to be spoken about. "You're home early."

"The last meeting was cancelled," his father said simply. "But I'm still working from home, so don't make too much noise and disturb me."

"Of course not." Antonio turned and smiled at his father, who gave his son a small smile in return. They had such a complicated relationship that the last time Antonio had tried explaining it to Francis (the self-styled guru of all types of relationships), his French friend had groaned, covered his ears, and demanded a very stiff drink.

To say Antonio and his father didn't get along would be incorrect. They got along just fine. They just never…talked. They smiled. They helped each other when they absolutely had to. Antonio always received expensive presents on his birthdays and Christmas. In return, his father had certain expectations of him. Antonio didn't necessarily care for these 'expectations'. But he knew he dare not argue. The last time Antonio had tried to make his father see his point of view had been six years ago. About the same time as Antonio had taken an interest in gardening. It was the first and last time his father had hit him. He had conceded in the end, but very unhappily. He still saw gardening as effeminate, inferior, pathetic.

"When will the football tryouts be held this year?" his father asked as he unfolded a newspaper lying on the table.

Antonio bit his bottom lip once more, pausing as he made dinner. "In two weeks."

"Good. I hope that coach of yours makes you the captain this time. That Fred fellow isn't half as good as you."

"Fred?" Antonio turned, frowning curiously. "Oh, you mean Alfred?"

"Yes, yes, him," his father replied distractedly, his eyes scanning each headline for something interesting.

"Alfred's got excellent leadership skills," Antonio said, quick to defend his friend. "And he knows what everyone else's strengths are, and he understands how and where to use them. That's why he's captain. I don't think I'd do a better job."

Antonio shut the hell up when his father raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

"You'd do fine," his father said as though it was a scientific fact. "And tell me about the girls you're seeing."

Ah, the unanswerable question. Antonio knew it irritated his father when Antonio dated a girl and then stopped seeing her after a week. It would be perfect if Antonio just liked women. Then he could have a beautiful steady girlfriend and make his dad happy.

"Oh, um…" Antonio began, but was interrupted.

"You're seventeen, Antonio. One would think you're a fag."

Antonio almost sliced off his own thumb in horror at the word. His father's voice was sharp and cold.

"Don't be silly," Antonio replied, putting down the knife as his hands started to tremble. "There is someone." He picked up his phone for show. "I'm texting her right now, actually." He glanced at the screen and smiled. "She just told me about her ballet lessons."

Did Emma learn ballet? Antonio struggled to remember.

He quickly typed in:

**Antonio: im just gonna text u cause im bored, kay? U don't have to reply**

_Gilbert: Wht?_

**Antonio: nothing. Sup?**

If he could just pretend Gilbert was Emma…actually, the thought was rather funny.

"Oh, what's her name?" his father pressed.

"Emma," Antonio replied, putting his phone away. "She's from Belgium."

"I see. When are you seeing her?"

Antonio bit the inside of his cheek. "Oh, you know, I haven't asked her out yet."

"Don't let this one get away too," his father muttered flatly. "People will start to think there's something wrong with you."

"Like I said," Antonio replied, trying to keep his voice as calm as humanly possible. "You're being silly. I really like her. I do plan on asking her out."

"Good." His father folded the newspaper and held it under his arm, took his glass of sangria and his briefcase, and said, "I'm in my study, working. Don't disturb me unless it's important."

"Yeah, of course. Should I bring your dinner to you?"

"Do that." His father left the kitchen, but Antonio didn't dare relax until he heard the man's footsteps get softer and softer, until he heard a door shut.

His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled loudly.

**Antonio: I think I may hv to ask Emma out**

_Gilbert: u not into her or something?_

**Antonio: she's really cool :)**

_Gilbert: then whts the problem?_

**Antonio: there's no problem!**

_Gilbert: oh. Sry. It just seemed lyk there was_

_Gilbert: anyway, u coming on saturday ryt?_

**Antonio: for football?**

**Antonio: Yup and I asked lovi t come**

_Gilbert: who the fuck is lovi_

_Gilbert: oh u mean lovino vargas_

_Gilbert: that bratty little bastard_

_Gilbert: why the hell did u invite him_

**Antonio: becuz he's really cool**

**Antonio: and lets face it if he tries out for the team, he's gonna be a part of it**

**Antonio: might as well just get to kno him**

_Gilbert: So. Unawesome._

Antonio laughed, turning back to the tortillas. Gilbert could be such a drama king sometimes. Even worse than Francis.

* * *

Lovino thought the week went pretty well. The classes were boring, of course, but nothing particularly drastic and horrible happened. He managed to befriend Feliks and Toris, and the quiet kid, Matthew. Antonio kept grinning at him every time they ran into each other. It confused the hell out of Lovino. Logically, after a defeat as crushing as that, most people just glared. Lovino had embarrassed a  _lot_ of morons on the football field. This Antonio character was the only one who didn't seem to have a problem with it. Weirdo.

Saturday came around, and with it, the inevitable message.

_Antonio: u coming today right? :D_

**Lovino: we'll see**

_Antonio: oh come on it'll be fun_

**Lovino: we'll see**

_Antonio: awesome. Just a reminder: its the park at Rose Lane. u can ask around, it's a landmark_

_Antonio: see u there!_

**Lovino: idiota I said we'll see**

_Antonio: Scared of playing football against me? ;D_

**Lovino: Rose Lane park. See u there.**

_Antonio: yay :P_

**Lovino: dipshit**

* * *

People envied Lovino. It was as simple as that. They were jealous because of the sheer talent in his every kick. On the field—and this was true even in his old school—Lovino was a hurricane. Nobody scored more than he did. More often than not, he'd made at least one goal just five minutes into the game. It was true that he didn't have many friends back then, but that was also because people were envious. And his attitude didn't help matters. They thought he was stuck-up.

Lovino wasn't stuck up at all. He could acknowledge a good player. It was just that so far, he hadn't found one good enough. Not even close to his level.

Nobody  _liked_ competing  _against_  Lovino.

That was why it came like a genuine surprise when he was invited to play with Antonio and his friends. Gilbert was rolling his eyes and sulking—as expected—Alfred just looked happy to befriend a new person, while Sadik, Mathias, and Carlos were just staring at Lovino suspiciously. Ivan didn't seem to care one way or another. Antonio, however, was grinning from ear to ear.

"Hi, Lovi!"

" _Must_ you call me that?" he groaned.

"It's cute!"

"Whatever." Lovino watched Alfred tossing the football in the air. The park was pretty big, and these guys had basically made this large patch of green all their own. There weren't any actual goals or anything, but Arthur had marked the 'goalposts' with longish strips of white rope.

They split up into teams of six each. Lovino with Gilbert, Sadik, and Ivan, and Antonio with Alfred, Mathias, Arthur and the rest. And as usual, Lovino stole the ball, ran with it, scored. Again, again, again.

And then something happened. Antonio swooped in from nowhere. He literally took Lovino completely by surprise, and the Italian was convinced he heard the bastard snicker as he kicked the ball out of Lovino's range and tore after it.

Antonio scored the first goal for his team.

Lovino attacked once more. They were in a great lead. They just had to keep at it. Lovino scored.

Antonio scored. Twice.

The others  _must_ have been around there somewhere, but Antonio was all Lovino could see. His playful little grin—(or was he imagining that?)—as he tried again and again to take the ball from Lovino. Oh, this was fun. This was actually fun. Antonio was not half as good as him, but he was still putting up a fight.

When Antonio and his team lost, they lost with a smidgen of their respect intact. Mostly because Antonio simply laughed it off, saying, "That was amazing! You're so talented, Lovi!"

Lovino just gaped at the guy. " _Grazie_ , but…"

Antonio's laugh faded into curiosity as he tilted his head to the side, resembling a puppy. "But what?"

_But…you should be jealous. Why aren't you jealous?_

"Nothing, never mind."

* * *

Then came the soccer tryouts. And as expected, Lovino dominated the field. It was Shirts and Skins, and Lovino's luck being the way it was, Antonio was a Skin. With sweat glistening off his tanned chest and those sculpted muscles, it was a real wonder Lovino was able to focus on anything at all. Every time Antonio ran up to take it from him, Lovino tensed. He was terrified of actually touching Antonio. Oh god, was he blushing? No, his face was just red from the scorching sun and running around. Yes, exactly.

Antonio and his team lost spectacularly to Lovino, which was, of course, expected. But the usual crowd still made it to the team, with the exception of some random player Lovino hadn't learnt the name of. And Lovino had replaced him.

Lovino was on the football team!

He allowed himself a little victory dance when he got home. Those losers. Ha.

That night, it rained. Lovino fell asleep at 10.30 pm out of sheer exhaustion, and it was bone dry. But sometime during the course of the night, the storm gathered and emptied upon the city.

When he saw Antonio the next day, the Spaniard was sitting all alone at his desk without any of his idiot friends nearby. Lovino could only stare. He was staring out onto the rain-swept field, a look of genuine melancholy on his face.

Lovino dropped his bag on the desk behind Antonio, and smirked. "Sad about losing to me yesterday, bastard?"

Antonio turned. His tired eyes lightened a little when he saw the brunet, but his face fell again. "No…it's the rain."

"The rain makes you sad? My brother's like that sometimes."

"No, no…" Antonio said, sounding a little dazed as he waved his hands around distractedly. "It's…well…ugh, it's really stupid. When I fell asleep the skies were clear. And I woke up around four in the morning to a thunderclap. And I saw how heavily it was raining…and…well, the tomato plants on my balcony," he said, his voice turning softer and softer. "Some of them have drowned. I mean, I saw the rain and I bolted out of bed and got them inside. And I even tried to dry them with a hairdryer! Not sure if that was a good idea, but I had to try, right? Ugh, but they're all limp and the tomatoes have fallen off…they weren't even ripe…this is so frustrating…ugh."

Lovino blinked. "What?"

Antonio's eyes sharpened only a fraction out of confusion. "What what?"

"You…tomatoes…rain…what?" The more he spoke, the less sense it made.

"Uh, yeah. I have tomato plants, and I happen to really like them. I hope at least  _one_ survives…stupid rain," he finished, turning around with low grumbling in Spanish.

Lovino's arm shot out and he yanked Antonio's shoulder. "You  _grow_ tomatoes?"

"I grow a lot of things," Antonio said simply. "But don't let that get around."

"Huh? Why the fuck not?"

Antonio just shrugged. "It's sort of…I don't know…never mind. Just…gah, whatever." He seemed  _really_ out of sorts. It didn't seem to help his mood when Emma entered the class, grinned when she saw him, and walked right over. Lovino heard Antonio sigh. "Hi, Emma," he said, plastering on a grin.

Emma sat on a free bench next to him. "Hey, Toni! I heard you made it to the football team again. Congratulations! Of course, nobody's surprised."

"I am," Lovino coughed. For some reason, that made Antonio snicker. When he saw Emma looking at him, Lovino continued, "Your boyfriend got his ass handed to him by me."

"It's true," Antonio said with a grin. An actual wide grin. For some reason, that  _really_ irritated Lovino. He wanted to see the bastard sulking. Like Gilbert. Like Sadik. He didn't want this happy-go-lucky attitude. Lovino imagined punching Antonio in the teeth. Maybe that would make him frown and complain.

Emma furrowed her brow. "Oh, I'm sorry, Antonio. But it must have been a—" she suddenly stopped, gaping at Lovino. "Oh."

"Oh what?" Antonio asked.

"Oh, you didn't correct Lovino when he said you're my boyfriend. Does that mean—"

Antonio went violently red. "We haven't even been on a date yet."

But the damage was done. Emma's face lit up like Christmas lights, and Lovino, trying to hold back wild laughter, watched Antonio's expression completely slide. Wait. No. On closer inspection, he looked…

He looked scared.

"Emma," Antonio said, his voice wavering as he ran a hand through his hair. The teacher entered the class, and Antonio dropped his gaze. "We'll talk about it later."

**Lovino: You should be thanking me**

**Lovino: she's hot**

_Antonio: si :) she's pretty_

**Lovino: You look like you're about 2 tear your hair out**

_Antonio: haha no_

_Antonio: just a little headache_

Lovino watched him move his hands away from his head and stare resolutely at the blackboard. He didn't respond to any further texts. Not from Lovino, not from Emma.

The rumour about Emma and Antonio spread  _very_ quickly. Everywhere Lovino looked, there were girls crying into their friends' shoulders because Antonio had rejected them for 'that dumb blonde slut bitch from Belgium, like who even goes to Belgium, like what does Belgium even have, like what does he even see in her?'

At first, Lovino found this  _hilarious_. Antonio kept giving these girls guilty, apologetic looks. For some reason, he tried especially hard to stay the hell away from Emma. It often didn't work. She had ways of just  _materialising_ at places. And she was so sweet, so popular, so completely  _lovely_ , that the guys on the team didn't even mind. She'd hang off Antonio's arm and places kisses on his cheek, and each time Antonio looked like he wanted to melt into the ground and die.

Eventually, though, it stopped being funny.

Every time Lovino saw Antonio's heartbroken fangirls, every time Lovino saw Emma, every time he saw  _Antonio_ , something inside him snapped and he wanted to hit people.

"You look really annoyed, Lovi," Feli said, for once choosing to sit next to his brother instead of his stupid friends.

"I'm always annoyed," Lovino retorted, ripping the pizza and chewing it like it had caused him great personal harm.

Feliciano gave him a knowing look, an expression Lovino particularly hated. "Are you jealous?"

"What? Why the fuck would I be jealous? And of  _whom_?"

"Well, it's got to hurt that Antonio's dating Emma, right? You have this big crush on him, don't you?"

Lovino just gaped at his brother. A bit of pizza hung out of his mouth. "Are you an idiot?"

"Lovi, you have some…" and Feli pointed to his own face.

Lovino hastily wiped his mouth, swallowed, and said, "I do not have a crush on him. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Feliciano took a forkful of his pasta thoughtfully, ate it, and said, "Sorry. I thought…well…I don't know. You're so obsessed with outdoing him. And you get weirdly happy when he's around so…I don't know. Sorry." And he shrugged like he hadn't just dropped a bombshell.

The elder Vargas stared across the room, to where Antonio was sitting with Emma. He looked completely miserable, staring into his food as Emma chatted away. "I don't have a crush on him."

"Okay,  _fratello_ ," Feliciano said simply.

"I don't."

"Okay."

"Fucking hell, I DON'T."

Feliciano blinked at him. " _Okay_."

* * *

Antonio was packing up stuff at his locker one day as he got ready to go home. He'd somehow managed to worm himself out of yet another date. He could tell Emma was getting more and more annoyed with him. He couldn't even kiss her properly. It just…argh. How had this even happened? He'd tried to explain it to her: he simply wasn't into her. But she wasn't  _listening_. And then the rumour spread, and…

Ugh.

Antonio looked away from his locker when he heard footsteps approach him. Lovino was standing there, arms crossed over his chest. "Bastard."

"Lovi! Hi!"

"Apparently, you're Catholic," Lovino declared, his golden eyes regarding Antonio seriously.

"Uh, yeah. That's sort of obvious, though." Antonio gently tugged at the cross necklace he was wearing. "Why?"

"Where do you go to church?"

"Uh…" Antonio scratched his head.

"See, it's simple. Feli and I don't really care, but grandpa gets antsy. We have to go halfway across the city for a Catholic church. There must be someplace nearby, right?" He averted his gaze, his cheeks darkening. "Grandpa asked me to ask you."

"Oh," Antonio mumbled. "Well, there's one not too far from my place. Just a ten minute walk, really. Although dad likes to take the car for some reason. Where do you stay?"

"Gold Street. God, why do the streets have such fucked up names?"

Antonio laughed. "That's not far from my house, you know. Here, let me give you directions." He pulled out a notebook and pen from his bag and drew a complicated-looking map. "It shouldn't take you more than twenty minutes if you walk. Five if you drive."

" _Nonno's_  going to be so pissed that there was a church five minutes away by car and he didn't know about it," Lovino muttered, as Antonio tore out the page he'd drawn the map on and handed it to Lovino. "Thanks."

"No problem! See you there on Sunday?"

"Whatever. Are you coming to play football in the park tomorrow?"

Antonio closed his eyes for a fraction. When he opened it, his smile was bright and excited. "Of course I am! See you tomorrow, Lovi?"

Again, Lovino blushed and looked away. "Whatever."

* * *

Antonio had a problem.

He had a crush.

On a guy.

Lovino Vargas.

Antonio had known he was gay for a while now, but he'd never had an actual  _crush_. He'd just admired people from afar. Movie stars. Footballers. The closest he'd come to having one was with Roderich Edelstein. But Roderich was really not his type at all. He was good to look at, but that was it. This crush, however, was on someone Antonio knew and respected. Lovino. Lovi.

There were a million things wrong with this situation.

To begin with, he had no idea if Lovino was even gay. And even if he was, would he actually be interested in Antonio? Also, his father was a complete homophobe. And he and his father didn't even really… _talk_  that much. His dad wasn't above fits of violence, and Antonio was genuinely concerned about this. Plus there was the added problem of Emma. For heaven's sake! How had he managed to get into that mess? There had to be some way he could break up with her. The more this farce went on, the more hurt she'd be in the end. Antonio really didn't want to hurt her. She was so nice.

He looked sadly at his lone tomato plant, the only survivor of that terrible freak storm. It was damaged, but Antonio had looked up all sorts of forums and chat-rooms to see how he could help it. He'd received some excellent advice. It was working. That was something to be happy about. He'd bought new flowering plants, and he could see little buds forming on them.

But even that sight wasn't enough to lift his spirits.

What was he going to do?

Francis would know. Francis always knew how to help. The problem was, Antonio had come to a point where he just didn't want to tell his friends about his sexuality. He wasn't afraid of their reactions; he just didn't want to tell them. The idea just drained him of energy. Maybe it was a subconscious avoidance technique, who knew?

He got started on dinner and made his dad's sangria. Although Antonio knew his father would be home late tonight. As usual. He poured himself a glass and stepped out of the kitchen as the water boiled, staring at the football lying on the floor of the living room.

* * *

"It's like he's not even human," Gilbert muttered darkly after the game on Saturday. The others had left, Lovino included, but Antonio wanted ice cream, so he and Gilbert had gone walking around for a stall. "I swear if that guy continues to play, he could go national."

"I know," Antonio said happily, his eyes twinkling with joy. "Lovino's amazing." He winced a bit as the scrapes on his knees stung.

"You should really clean that when you get home," Gilbert said with a snicker. "Is it just me, or does he intimidate you?"

Antonio glanced at his friend. "What? Lovino?"

"Yeah. Every time he gets too close you sort of…panic and back away. It's weird."

"He does not intimidate me!"  _I'm freaking attracted to him, idiot._  But Antonio held his tongue.

"Sure," Gilbert laughed. "How are things going with Emma, by the way?"

Antonio chewed the inside of his cheek. "Fine."

"It's cool. You've never been with any girl as long as that. Emma must be special, huh?" Gilbert waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, look! Ice cream!" and Antonio bolted towards the guy selling ice cream to little children.

The memory of playing football against Lovino was still fresh in his mind. Antonio loved it. He could watch Lovino play football all day. Lovi got so impassioned every time he was on the field. He could still remember the way the Italian roared with fury as he shot the ball towards the goal. Arthur had been overwhelmed. Antonio couldn't play half as well and he knew it. But he didn't mind, not really.

"You watching the game tonight?" Gilbert asked between bites of his orange ice candy.

Antonio chewed a bit of his Cornetto cone, swallowed, and said, "Oh yes, there's a game tonight, isn't there? Madrid versus?"

"Milan," Gilbert replied.

"Of course I'm watching it."

Antonio went home, tended to his plants, and completely forgot about the match.

* * *

_Lovino: fucking hell milan lost again what the fuck is this I hate you you spanish bastard_

**Antonio: x'D milan lost?**

**Antonio: hahaha :]**

_Lovino: wtf didn't you watch the game_

**Antonio: Fell asleep :P**

_Lovino: fuck you_

_Lovino: ugh_

_Lovino: so annoyed right now_

Lovino _: see you at church bastard_

**Antonio: see u lovinito ;D**

* * *

Spotting Antonio was easy. He was sitting on one of the last rows with a man who Lovino assumed to be his father, and the two of them stood out like rainbows. Well, the adult looked absolutely nothing like a rainbow. He was dressed in black, suit, tie, neatly combed hair, humourless face. Antonio, beside him, had a fixed grin and smiled at every old lady who walked past him. He was wearing a maroon button-down shirt, and kept glancing around the room.

"I think he's looking for you," Feliciano whispered quietly, making Lovino turn bright red.

"Shut up. He's not."

"Oh, look! He's seen us!" Feli stuck his hand out and waved so vehemently at Antonio that Lovino actually felt a breeze on his face. Their grandfather chuckled.

Antonio noticed, but he wasn't the only one. The man beside him frowned slightly, looking at Antonio and speaking softly. Perhaps Feliciano and grandpa didn't notice, but Lovino certainly did. Antonio's face tensed up slightly, his smile became a little bit smaller, and his hand gestures seemed rather…pacifying?

But Feliciano had already walked up to the pair, and Lovino and their grandfather quickly followed.

"Hi, Toni! How are you! Thank you so much for telling us about this church. It's so pretty!"

Antonio seemed to physically shrink into his seat. "Haha…hola, Feli—Feliciano, Lovino," he stammered, smiling. "This is my father, Mr. Amaranto Carriedo.  _Papá,_ these are my classmates, and their grandfather, Mr. Romulus Vargas."

What the fuck had just happened?

'Feliciano, Lovino'? Since when did Antonio call either of them that? 'Classmates'? Antonio so staunchly claimed that Lovino was his  _friend_. And what was the deal with this 'Mr Amaranto Carriedo' and 'Mr. Romulus Vargas' crap?

And why the hell did Antonio look so stressed out?

"A pleasure," Antonio's father said, standing and giving their grandfather's hand a short, firm shake. "How do you do, Mr. Vargas?"

Their grandfather laughed. "Please, call me Romulus." He sat on the pew beside Antonio's father, and Feliciano followed suit. Lovino sat last, trying to discreetly peer down the length of the bench to see Antonio. The Spaniard looked even more stressed, staring at the stained glass windows, playing with his hands.

Nobody said anything for a bit. And then the sermon began.

It was always the same. Lovino just got so damn bored of it. Feliciano was having trouble staying awake. Only their grandfather was listening with rapture at what the priest was saying. Antonio's father had the same expression, looking solemnly at the man. Except, he kept tapping his foot slightly in impatience.

Antonio was just staring at his feet.

As quietly as he could, Lovino took out his mobile phone. An old lady across the aisle frowned at him, but he ignored her. His grandfather was far too preoccupied to notice.

**Lovino: this place is boring**

He watched Antonio jump slightly as his mobile phone vibrated. The Spaniard glanced at his father, and then pulled out his phone.

_Antonio: texting during the sermon? :P_

_Antonio: ur not a very good catholic_

**Lovino: you aren't winning any awards either**

**Lovino: when is the first football game of the season?**

_Antonio: like…a month from nw?_

Antonio suddenly hid his phone as his father's gaze shifted, and Lovino put his phone away as well. When his father's attention went back to the priest, Antonio texted:

_Antonio: want 2 go out?_

Lovino stared blankly at the message.

**Lovino: are you asking me out bastard?**

**Lovino: because a church is the weirdest fucking place for a guy to ask another guy out**

He heard Antonio snicker. It was a very, very soft noise, but for some reason, Lovino's ears were able to pick out Antonio's sounds.

_Antonio: I mean after this_

_Antonio: we could go to the park_

_Antonio: it would be fun_

**Lovino: oh you mean to play football**

**Lovino: one on one?**

_Antonio: yup!_

**Lovino: gonna kick your ass bastard**

**Lovino: you are gonna regret this**

It felt like the sermon took all day. Eventually Feliciano did fall asleep, and Lovino had to shake him awake just before it ended, so that grandpa wouldn't notice and get mad. As they were stepping out, Antonio caught his father's arm and said, "I'm going out with Lovino, okay?"

His father narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Antonio wilted. "To the park, I mean. Alfred and Gilbert and everyone's there. We're playing football. Did I mention Lovino was on the team? He's really good! Everyone's a bit jealous of him, haha. You should watch him when he plays, haha."

Lovino simply stared. Antonio was rambling. And not his usual air-headed rambling about tomatoes and cats and god knows what else, but he was rambling out of stark fear.  _Nonno_ actually frowned. "Are they okay?" he asked softly to Lovino.

"I…think so?" but Lovino seriously doubted that.

"Fine," they heard his father say with a touch of irritation. "Don't get home too late."

Antonio's shoulder slumped and his expression loosened. "Of course not. See you later."

His father patted Antonio's shoulder and walked off.

Lovino pretended not to notice Antonio collecting himself in the corner. He was looking so incredibly stressed out that it wasn't even amusing.  _Nonno_ stepped forward and placed a hand on Antonio's shoulder. "Are you okay, son?"

Antonio beamed. "Of course. Why?"

"You just looked a little…" his voice trailed away and he scratched his neck awkwardly. "Never mind. You boys have fun, okay?"

"Of course. Everything's fun with Lovi!"

Feliciano and  _nonno_ burst into laughter, and Lovino just blushed. "You bastard."

* * *

"It just occurs to me that neither of us have a football," Antonio said simply, kicking a stone in the path. His bag hung off one shoulder as he walked with his hands in his pockets. "That sucks."

"You're such an idiot. You're the one who wanted to play."

Antonio didn't reply. In fact, he didn't even meet Lovino's gaze. There was a long, awkward silence, and finally the Spaniard muttered, "The first game of the season is only a month away, huh?"

"Yeah." A grin spread across Lovino's face. "I'm so fucking excited. Who are we against? Some school called Davidson High, right? We'll show them not to fuck with us."

Antonio kicked the stone further down the path and sighed as it tumbled into a bush. "Lovi, can I ask you a huge favour?"

"What?"

"Can you train me?"

Lovino stopped short, and Antonio stopped with him. His green eyes were shimmering,  _pleading_. "It's just…" Antonio went on. "My dad will murder me if I suck out there. He, um…well. You know." He looked away, digging his hands further into his pockets. "And you're really amazing. So I was wondering if you could give me tips and stuff?"

"What the  _fuck_?"

This was not FAIR. Now Antonio wanted Lovino to train him? WHY? Why couldn't the bastard just be  _jealous_ like a normal person? Why couldn't he sulk and whine and complain about Lovino's infallibility?

"You don't have to," Antonio quickly said. "Haha, never mind." He ran a hand through his hair, smiling to himself as he looked to the sky. "It's selfish of me to ask, too. You have a life."

Lovino crossed his arms. "Every day after school. At this park."

"Oh, Lovi! YAY!"

And Antonio threw himself onto Lovino and pulled him into a hug.

* * *

It was a fantastic excuse to avoid Emma. Every day after school, Antonio would take his football and Lovino could help him practice. They'd do simple things like running to improve stamina, or practicing kicking. Lovino would challenge Antonio to take the ball from him, which was always the hardest thing to do.

Mostly, though, it was fun to just hang out with Lovino. Antonio adored how his face got so bright red with embarrassment or anger. Antonio loved it when Lovino cussed. It was so funny! And Antonio especially loved when Lovino would do deliberately difficult-looking kicks or whatever to make Antonio jealous. He wasn't blind; he could see it. Lovino liked being the center of attention. He liked it when people resented his talent. And it completely aggravated him that Antonio was so happy about Lovino's prodigious gift.

The practice sessions would always somehow end up in getting ice cream or hot dogs or something else edible. Lovino would always crib and complain but he'd eat it nonetheless.

At one point, however, Antonio wasn't getting something right. He'd been in a bad mood all day, actually. Antonio's bad moods were really strange. He'd get sarcastic and snippy, but he'd also try laughing to prove that nothing was wrong. Lovino decided not to call him 'bastard' that day. But when Antonio growled and kicked the football into a tree in frustration, Lovino yelled, "What the hell was that, you fucking  _idiota_?"

Antonio seemed to snap out of a daze. He looked at Lovino, then at the football stuck between two branches, and muttered, "This is so annoying," before he climbed the tree to go fetch it. Later, he mumbled, "Sorry I've been so mean today. I had a fight with dad."

That explained things.

"What's his damn problem, anyway?" Lovino asked, sitting down in the shade.

Antonio chuckled softly. "You could say he's…damaged? I remember him being much nicer when mom was alive. People change, huh?"

"Yeah," Lovino agreed. "Our granddad was really strict, before. But then our parents died and he was our legal guardian. That made him open up, I guess. But really, Antonio, you seem fucking frightened of your dad."

Antonio didn't reply, except to smile and say, "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

* * *

"Hello? Emma?"

" _Antonio? Oh, hi."_ She sounded a bit tired through the phone.  _"You never call me."_

"Right, um." He glanced to the shut door of his father's room. "Would you like to go out this Saturday?"

There was a pause at the other end.  _"What? Really? Wow! You never ask me out! Yes, I'd love to go out. Did you have someplace in mind?"_

Antonio tugged awkwardly at his collar. Why was this happening? Why? But his father's stupid accusations about being a 'dick-sucking fag' for not asking 'his own girlfriend' out were still playing on his mind. He didn't know why he even bothered making his dad so happy. Someone was going to get really badly hurt by the time this charade was over.

"I was thinking about maybe that waffle place you'd mentioned?"

" _Oh, yes! That sounds perfect."_

"Lovely. I'll pick you up around four?"

" _That would be great. Thanks. I can hardly wait."_

"Me neither. See you."

" _Bye, Toni!"_

"Bye, Em."

He tossed the phone onto his bed and went out to the balcony. His one tomato plant was all healed, and he watched with the joy of a parent as little reddening tomatoes grew on it. The chrysanthemums were in full bloom. But there was still a little bit more place out here for more plants. Flowers, perhaps.

* * *

_Lovino: bastard where are you_

_Lovino: aren't you coming to play with us today?_

**Antonio: Im taking emma out on a date**

**Antonio: some other time okay? :)**

* * *

Lovino stared at the phone in his hand and had an intense desire to throw it at Antonio's face. He was just going on a date with his girlfriend. Exactly. Nothing weird about that.

"That stupid rat bastard, I hate him so much!"

"Why?" Alfred asked, kicking the ball up in the air.

"He's taking Emma out on some fucking date."

"They are dating, though," Gilbert muttered. "It's not a big deal."

"Whatever." Lovino crossed and uncrossed his arms. "Let's just start the fucking game."

* * *

The waffles had ice cream and strawberries and chocolate sauce . They were thick and soft. Emma looked gorgeous, her hair in gentle curls, just slight make-up on her face. She laughed, she talked, she smiled. She touched Antonio's hand gently, making all the right moves. Anyone else would have been completely smitten.

"This is wrong."

Antonio blurted out the words before he could even stop himself.

Emma stopped in mid-sentence. "Pardon me?" she asked, looking at him with a confused frown. "Did they mess up your order?"

Antonio looked to his plate, and then to the girl in front of him. "This. Us. God, I don't know." He ran a hand through his locks, sighing loudly as he sat back against the chair.

Emma's smile slowly disappeared. "Oh."

Antonio pressed his forehead against the table. "Honestly, Emma, I didn't mean for it to go so far. But the rumours spread, and you thought…and…crap. This is such a mess. It got completely out of hand."

"So you don't want to go out with me," Emma said simply. "You're breaking up with me." When her voice broke, Antonio looked up.

"I'm so sorry."

Her eyes filled up. "What is it about me, Antonio? You keep avoiding me. Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I did. You know I didn't mean to."

"No! No, it's not that. It's just…" Antonio groaned softly. "I'm not…attracted…to…"

"I'm ugly."

"No! Dammit, wait. This is difficult." He pressed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and whispered, "I'm gay."

The silence that followed that was the longest, the most horrible silence Antonio had ever had to sit through. Emma was just gaping at him. "What?"

"Yes," Antonio mumbled, looking away. "But you can't tell anyone, please god, don't tell anyone. There's a reason I reject every girl who takes an interest in me. I don't want to hurt them, but..."

"Our school doesn't discriminate. We're very open-minded," Emma mumbled, wiping her eyes deftly with the corner of a tissue.

"It's not that. It's…home."

"Oh." Emma's gaze softened to one of sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Antonio. I didn't mean…gosh. This is just…"

"It's my fault," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. You must hate me."

"I sort of do," she replied, looking to her lap. "But this explains a lot. I thought there was something wrong with  _me_."

"No. You're incredible. If I were straight, I'd be head-over-heels for you."

"Why on earth did you ask me out?" she suddenly blurted.

He looked away. "Things at home are…um, complicated?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She wiped her eyes again, stood, and took her purse. "Thanks for telling me, I guess." She placed a light kiss on his cheek. "I'll text you when I'm less furious."

"Sorry."

"It's over and done with now," she said simply, looking away. "I hope you find happiness, Antonio."

And with that, she was gone.

Antonio just stared blankly at the two plates of uneaten waffles on the table.

* * *

"Did you have fun with Emma?" his father seemed considerably happier.

Antonio wore a tight smile. "Yeah, it was wonderful."

"Good. When do I get to meet her?"

"Eventually, haha. She's really shy."

Antonio darted to his room before his father could even respond.

* * *

_Antonio: Looooovi_

_Antonio: Loooooovi_

_Antonio: wake up :D  
_

_Antonio: wake up pleeeeeeeeeez  
_

_Antonio: lovi lovi lovi lovi  
_

_Antonio: lovinooooooooooo_

**Lovino: What the fuck do you want bastard its 6 in the fucking morning**

_Antonio: can we go 2 the park_

**Lovino: wtf why**

_Antonio: I couldnt sleep n I feel like getting out of the house :D_

**Lovino: right  
**

**Lovino: I hate you  
**

**Lovino: fine**

* * *

They met at their usual spot, and the second Antonio saw Lovino carrying his football, his face twisted into the most shocking frown. "No, can we please not play today?" He seemed tired. Not irritable or anything, just a little bit drained. But that made sense. He hadn't slept, right?

"Fine, what do you want to do?" Lovino snapped, rubbing residual exhaustion from his eyes.

"Let's just walk!"

They walked in silence for a while. It was comfortable. There was nobody around, except for the occasional drunk passed out on a bench. Antonio lightly tugged on Lovino's hand, guiding him to take this turn or that pathway.

"Whoa, wait!" Antonio tugged on Lovino's hand, dragging him towards a rosebush in full bloom. Little drops of dew hung of each flower. "They're so pretty, aren't they?" Antonio knelt on the ground, staring at the plant. He fingered the petals, and a strange sort of light entered his eyes. Lovino had never seen it before.

Antonio pulled out Swiss knife from the pocket of his cargo pants.

"What the fuck are you—"

"They're just so perfect." He slid open a sharp-looking knife and started sawing away at one of the stalks. "I'm sure it's all right if we just take  _one_. I think that's what I'll get next. Red roses. I've been meaning to add to my balcony garden."

Antonio pulled out a rose and suddenly yelped as a thorn pricked him. But then he burst out laughing. "Typical me." He started gently shaving away at the stalk, carefully removing each little sharp edge. And when he deemed it perfectly safe, he smiled and handed it to Lovino. "This is for you."

Lovino's face vaguely resembled the colour of the rose. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Giving you a rose,  _mi rosa_ ," he laughed.

Lovino just stared at him. "Why?"

"Why?" Antonio repeated, tilting his head to the side. "Interesting question."

"Goddammit," Lovino suddenly yelled, turning his head away and crossing his arms. "I fucking knew it."

"You knew what?"

"You're jealous of how well I play and you're trying to distract me. Especially since the first game is only a week away."

Antonio just blinked at him. And then he burst out laughing. It was wild, freeing laughter that made Lovino's blush deeper. Antonio was almost doubled over. "You really need to get over yourself," he managed through his mirth. "I'm not jealous of your talent, Lovino. In fact, I adore it. I love how passionate you are about football. It's so wonderful."

"I don't get it!" Lovino shrieked, throwing his hands up in the air. "Everyone else sort of hates me a little! Why don't you?"

"I guess I just don't get as competitive?" Antonio replied with a tiny smirk. He still held out the rose for Lovino.

"Exactly! Everyone gets competitive about something they care about!" and as the words left his mouth, Lovino's eyes went wide. "Oh. This explains a lot."

Antonio blinked. "Huh?"

"You…" and Lovino stared at Antonio. "You don't actually give a shit about football, do you?"

Antonio took a small step back. "That's silly. Of course I love football."

Things were falling into place. "You never initiate a football game, not really. You forget to watch football matches. And you only love talking about your damn plants." As Antonio's expression grew more panicked, Lovino just saw more examples. "And you always get so distracted with this 'football training' stuff, and… _you don't like football, do you_?"

Antonio was just gawking at him. "No, I mean…" He looked away with a sigh. "I hate it."

Lovino just stared. "Then why the fuck do you play it?"

"Argh," Antonio cried, sitting down on a park bench. "My father! He's into the whole machismo thing. So it's football and girls. For Christ's sake," he finished, staring at his feet. Lovino watched him blush. "I'm gay. I love gardening. And cooking. And those are supposedly  _girly_. And don't even get me started on my father's homophobia. He would literally kill me. He basically forced me to go out with Emma the other day. And I ended up breaking up with her. Of course, he doesn't know that." He turned the rose between his fingers absently. "And you know what? I have this massive crush on you."

Lovino blinked. "What?"

"I don't even know if you're gay, or if you're homophobic, or if you have a girlfriend, I don't  _know_. But that doesn't make a difference." He looked away. "I understand if you're repulsed. It's okay, you don't have to say anything. I'm just putting it out there. I like you. A lot."

And after of this entire tirade, Lovino simply said, "But you hate  _football_? That's like…the game of heaven." He sat beside Antonio, who just chuckled softly. Of course Lovino was joking. Antonio could hear it in his tone.

Slowly, Lovino took the rose from Antonio's hand.

"I don't buy it," he said simply. "You're just making all this shit up to distract me from the game, so that I'll suck and you'll be the star."

But then Lovino kissed him on the cheek.

"And that's all you're getting until the game is over."

* * *

_Interlude_

* * *

"So, when can I meet your girlfriend?" his father asked with a rarely heard laugh.

Antonio leaned with his full weight onto the kitchen counter. "Dad. Um. We need to talk."

* * *

"What is  _that_?"

It was Lovino's turn to make dinner. It had been three days since that tiny little kiss in the park, but Lovino had spent the entire time in absolute bliss. It was actually funny. He himself could see the humour in it. But Lovino was humming to himself—Dean Martin's  _That's Amore_ , from all the cheesy love songs he could choose from—while stirring ingredients into a bowl.

"Paella," Lovino replied simply.  _When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore…_  "It'll be done in a bit. Have you finished your homework?"

Feliciano stared at his brother. "Since when do you take an interest in my homework?"

"Oh, I don't know," Lovino replied distractedly.  _When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore…_

Feliciano laughed. It was short and sudden, and he stopped immediately, covering his mouth with both hands. "You've been in a weird mood for a few days now. Something good happen?" he smirked knowingly for good measure.

"None of your fucking business. Go away and stop bugging me."  _When you walk on a dream, but you know you're not dreaming, signore, scusa me but you see back in old Napoli that's amore…_

"No, really," Feliciano prodded, poking his brother's side. "You're making Spanish food and humming a really cute song. What happened?"

At exactly that moment, their grandfather walked into the kitchen, and Feliciano shouted, "Lovino has a boyfriend!"

"What the—Feliciano, shut up!"

"What?"  _nonno_ asked, blinking at his elder grandson. "Did you say  _boyfriend_?"

"Yeah," Lovino spat, turning back to the paella to hide his damn blush. "That a problem?"

"Uh…not at all, Lovi. But who is this lucky guy?"

"Haha, isn't it  _obvious_? Lovi's making Spanish food! It's Antonio!"

"Okay, that's it." Lovino filled a glass of water and emptied it on his brother's head. "Now clean up that mess and go away."

After whines of protests and 'Lovi, not fair!'s, the three of the sat for dinner. Lovino, mostly, tried to ignore Feliciano's teasing and his grandfather's questions. He kept his phone on vibrate and close to him, though. Antonio hadn't texted all day. Wasn't he even the slightest bit curious to see how the paella had turned out? Antonio had been so excited to give him the recipe, too.

The doorbell rung just as Lovino started on his second helping. "What? Who the fuck is it at this time?"

"Let me check," Feliciano replied, getting up to answer the door.

Lovino started on his meal again when something Feliciano said made his blood run cold.

"Oh my god, Toni! What happened?"

Lovino was out of his seat like a lightning bolt. He pushed past his brother and saw Antonio in the lamplight. Oh god, his face. Antonio had a split lip a massive bruise on his cheek, and a thin cut on his forehead. There was a bag on his shoulder. He smiled when he saw Lovino.

"Jesus Christ," the Italian muttered, pulling him inside.

By now,  _nonno_ had come out to the living room. He took one look at Antonio's face and quietly said, "I'll get some ice."

Lovino made Antonio sit on the couch, despite Antonio's protests of, "I'm fine, really!" while Feliciano hovered nervously in the background.

"Please don't tell me your dad did this," Lovino said softly. "Please, just don't say that."

"Okay," Antonio said simply, managing a small smile.

"Fuck. It was your dad, wasn't it?"

Their grandfather returned with a packet of frozen peas and a first-aid box. "Is it just your face?" he asked. "Where else are you hurt?"

"Well…" Antonio looked away. "I have a bruise on my chest but it's a tiny little bruise, I promise. Don't worry so much. I just, um, needed a place to stay for the night, that's all."

Lovino just stared at his boyfriend. "You're such a barefaced liar."

* * *

Lovino's bed was big enough for the both of them, and  _nonno_ didn't bother giving Antonio a spare bed. He knew it wouldn't have worked. Lovino just curled up to Antonio, both of them wide awake. "It's a good thing there wasn't any serious rib damage," Antonio mumbled. "I wouldn't have been able to play. The game is only days away."

"Fuck, you're thinking about the  _game_? The doctors said you need to take it easy for a few days."

"So I will," Antonio insisted. "But I'm part of the team, too. I don't want to let anyone down. There's still a few days to go. Don't worry, Lovi, really. I'm fine."

"Why did you even tell him the truth?" Lovino groaned, burying his head into Antonio's shoulder.

There was a long silence. So long, in fact, that Lovino almost thought Antonio had fallen asleep. "I guess I just got sick of lying."

Nobody said anything for a while. Finally, Lovino asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I have an aunt. She lives not too far from school, either. Dad basically cut me off, though. But he and my aunt don't get along, so that's a genuine possibility."

"You could always stay here," Lovino said softly.

Antonio laughed a little and then stopped, hissing. "Dad used to be fun," he mumbled quietly. "You know he threw all my plants off the balcony?"

"We can always get new ones. Tomatoes, of course. And roses. Big red roses. And pink roses. And yellow ones. And white ones, too. All of them."

"That sounds nice," Antonio said with a yawn in his voice.

"Go to sleep," Lovino ordered gently. "Just rest and get better."

"I'm fine, really. Just a bit bruised, that's all."

Lovino kissed his jaw, careful not to aggravate the bruise. "Good night."

* * *

Gilbert and Francis came to visit Antonio the next day, and he came clean. And later, after they left, Lovino saw Antonio browsing through the internet for 'types of roses pics'. He almost laughed. The idiot was clearly obsessed. Still, though. Antonio's eyes were a little bit sad, and Lovino knew why. Despite the cruel relationship between father and son, Antonio was terribly hurt by his father's behaviour. Antonio felt betrayed.

Lovino, for his part, just made sure Antonio wasn't overexerting himself. Which was easier said than done, because the idiot kept walking around the house. Staying in one place was boring, he kept saying. But at least he was all right. In daylight, he didn't look half as beat-up as he had last night.

Eventually, it was the day of the game. Antonio insisted on playing. "This one game," he told Lovino seriously. "After that I'm quitting the team."

"The coach will kill you."

"I really don't care."

"Okay, whatever."

The game begun.

Lovino dominated the field, just as expected. Antonio, injured and not fully functional, was doing badly.  _Badly_. Through sweat and shouting and bright lights, the players tore through the grass towards that one single football, kicking it back and forth, scoring and defending goals. Antonio didn't even try. He let Lovino completely control the game. It was easier this way. Lovino was in his element. Football had never even been Antonio's thing.

That was, of course, until they broke for half-time and Antonio glanced through the crowd. His father was there. Sitting right up front, his face stony, his lips a straight line. Instant guilt attacked Antonio. A need to satisfy the man consumed him.

"What?" Lovino asked, sensing the change in Antonio's expression as the Italian drank his water.

"Lovi…"

"What?"

Antonio shook his head. "Never mind. It's too selfish."

"What the fuck?"

"I just…" he looked at the Italian, obvious hesitation on his face. "Nothing."

"Antonio."

The Spaniard shifted from foot to foot. "Will you, um…" he glanced at Lovino and looked away. "Let me play for a bit?"

Lovino blinked at him. "You want the spotlight." Yes, Lovino's precious spotlight. "Antonio, you're hurt. You haven't healed fully yet." Thanks to Lovino, they were in a comfortable lead.

"Dad's in the crowd," he mumbled quietly.

"Antonio, you don't—"

"Dad's in the crowd," the Spaniard repeated.

Lovino just sighed.

* * *

It was stupid to want to prove himself in a sport he didn't like to a man he didn't like. But Antonio did not care. He knew enough to score at least a goal or two. He had Lovi's training to rely on. And Lovi himself was there, in case Antonio couldn't play well.

But Antonio  _would_.

And so the Spaniard attacked and attacked, reaching out with a vengeance towards anyone who happened to have the ball. He passed it to his open teammates. Alfred failed to score a goal but Antonio got possession of the ball eventually. He fired. The goal was blocked. Lovino launched himself forward, taking over the football once again, passing it to Antonio.

Sweat, heat, grass, noise. To Antonio, that was the essence of this game. Was it wrong that he didn't enjoy it? No, not really. It would be wrong if he failed to give his hundred percent right now. And Antonio was no quitter. Beads of sticky sweat dripped down his forehead. A dormant aggression awoke.

One, two, three.

Three goals.

The game was over.

Antonio doubled over, his hands on his knees. His chest hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt. But he'd played. He'd played well. And he'd showed his dad just how capable he was.

But when he looked up to search the crowd, his father was nowhere in sight.

* * *

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, and by the end of it, the coach had promptly sent Antonio to the nurse's office to recuperate. At least they won, though.

Lovino and Antonio had won it together.

* * *

" _I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses,"—James Joyce, Ulysses._

* * *

What was it about roses? Their shape, perhaps? They way they opened upwards and outwards. The way they were thick and full, each petal like sheets of velvet. Or perhaps it was the colour. Bright and captivating, each shade tickling the imagination of a layman-artist-lover. The thorns had their own allure. Always a game, plucking a rose without feeling the thorn.

Antonio grinned brightly at his roses. Red, pink, white, yellow. The tomatoes were fat and round, ready to be plucked. Lovino's football lolled at one end of the room. Chrysanthemums grew from flowerpots hanging from the ceiling. He watered each plant, talking to it lovingly in Spanish.

"Bastard," Lovino called, entering the room. He rolled his eyes when he saw what Antonio was doing. The entire lining of his window was covered with flowers now. And tomatoes, which was  _some_ compensation.

" _Si,_ Lovi?" Antonio replied with a giggle, gently plucking some tomatoes off his plants.

"Lunch is ready. It's getting cold. If I don't see your ass in the kitchen in five minutes, I won't feed you."

"Haha. You'd like to see my ass in the kitchen?" Antonio turned, shooting his boyfriend an impish smirk.

"Oh my  _god_ , my grandfather and my brother are at the goddamn table, don't say shit like that."

Antonio tossed a tomato towards Lovino, who caught it easily. "Are you playing football today in the park with the team?"

"Yeah. You coming?"

Antonio smiled serenely, standing up and dusting his hands on his jeans. "Sure, I'd love to watch."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment :)


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